Thoughts
by Draconic-Master
Summary: A band director's thoughts on someone who died recently.


Sure, she'd never been sad looking, persay, but she was constangly distracted and seemed to focus less on her music now and then gut then she'd throw herself headlong into it again. She'd really never appeared depressed or otherwise sad for no reason. She'd smile and wave if you would wave at her- if distracted maybe just a nod or a half wave. I just never thought she was depressed or sad...

But then again... she'd never seemed particually happy either even though she always seemed to be in absolute bliss when playing an instrument- whether it be Marimba, Flute, Pccolo, or even the Trumpet she rarely played (only during Jazz Band). She really did seem to be truely happy when with the band and... it makes me sad that she'll never experience that ever again.

Then again... maybe she is. Maybe she's still working her fingers to the bone on the new All-District piece or drawing and writing stories to go along with each other. Maybe she's learning a new instrument, like the oboe she wanted to learn and the string instrument she couldn't learn.

I think I'm really going to miss her... she was the only person who really seemed to get how I felt about being an extremely young band director- when almost all the young women in band are only there because they think you're cute and fantasize about you all day long... Creepy... but she seemed to get it- she really understood how it was- which was reassuring and almost scary because of how well she knew how it was like. I think I enjoyed her company more than I should've but it was nice not having a young woman her age swooning over me while I talk with them or otherwise speak of move.

She said she was afraid but fascinated by fire at the same time. She said that she wanted to go into a career in Biology or Science- that genetics fascinated her as well as computer tech. She said that she'd read a lot of books and played a lot of video games- she **always** said that Final Fantasy 7 was her favorite and that she had the coundtrack too. She would say that her day could always be better no matter how well it went- she would refer to winning the lottery at that point usually or having some sort of epiphany.

She wrote... she wrote that life was a living hell and that she was sad to leave but she couldn't take it anymore. She wrote that she made people sad and that she pissed people off- and that she'd pay for both. She- She wrote about her fear and fascination with fire and how it was related to that same fear and fascination with death. She wrote that she cried herself to sleep at night, waiting for someone to take her away from her misery, and about the morbid tales she wrote and posted on the Internet.

I-If I feel like this now- only three days after her death how will I feel in a week, in a month, in a year? What about ten? I feel like I'm being torn apart inside by guilt and fear- probably the same fear and fascination she felt towards death and fire- but why? I swear I handled everything as a teacher right, but as a friend- I think I failed miserably.

As I lay in my bed, on top of the covers- fully dressed, yet going nowhere, my third mourning day out of seven- the memories of her playing on and on through my head, I can see the flaws, the faults on either part (mine and hers) that led to this point and I feel the tears creeping down my face... I wish that it didn't have to come to the fact where you killed yourself... I wish you had stayed to try and fix this- to try and make everything better... I wish I hadn't been so blind to your plight and that I had been a better friend and mentor to you. I can say I wish all I want to but it's no going to make everything better again, or was it really good at all?

Seeing that you put a bullet through your head it obviously wasn't that good for you, but couldn't you have worked it out with all it's problems or did you just loose faith in everyone and thing? What's the truth of this matter? Did you not trust me enough to tell your darkest secrets to or was it just that you wanted to spare the rest of us your tortured life? You didn't have to spare me all of those despairing moments and tortured times, I would have listened, I would've stayed with your 'till the end. I would've tried to help you, why didn't you ask for my help? Were you scared? Were you worried that they'd do something bad to you, no only your parents but those voices you started hearing after not too long?

What about those voices? Did they threaten both you and me? Did they convince you that this was the only course of action to take? Did they say that I couldn't help- that I was no friend of yours? I tried to be your friend as best as I could even though I've got a good seven years on you. Did the voices say that life wasn't worth living anymore? Did they sell your that you deserve to die because of things you said? You didn't- you didn't deserve death, you only made a couple of stupid mistakes- just like everyone does, including me.

I messed up; I didn't help you even though I thought you might need it. I kept telling myself that- that you would come to me and that you would talk to me and tell me everything. To tell you the truth, I wanted someone to talk with- to let my darkness lie and someone to understand how I felt too... I kinda wish you knew that, but now you've left me all by myself, crying here, all alone... I miss you already...


End file.
